A Chance Meeting
by Noggins
Summary: John Constantine meets an old friend from back in the 70s... who just happens to be a certain bleached blonde vampire...


"A Chance Meeting"  
A Hellblazer/Buffy Crossover  
By Jonathan Evans (noggins_evans@hotmail.com)  
  
Distribution : Ask first  
Rating : R... bit of bad language and references to sex and the like  
Disclaimer: I own none of this! Joss Whedon is the brains behind Buffy while DC Comics own John Constantine. Bloody great characters so I thought I'd bring 'em together.  
Notes : Set late S5, somewhere between "Into The Woods" and "Crush"  
Feedback : Muchly appreciated. It's good for my ego :)  
  
For those of you who don't know him, here's a description of our main protaganist from DC Comics' Hellblazer. Kinda thought he'd fit into the Buffyverse quite well:  
"Constantine is a working-class mage, a thief, a con-artist, former punk, and savior of the known universe. Constantine is by turns a total bastard, a drunk, a trickster, an adrenaline junkie, a womanizer, and sometimes, when no one is looking, a nice guy. He has no superpowers, only a sharp wit, a little bit of magic, and a reputation Alister Crowley would envy." - From The Ultimate Hellblazer Index  
  
"Sod you and the powers of darkness, mate. I gleaned that bit of dark knowledge down at the pub, watching telly. If you lot would get out and socialize every now and then, you'd know what's going on in the world." - John Constantine  
  
"A CHANCE MEETING"  
  
He's a right arsehole that bloke. Seen 'im around a few times, recognised the face but I couldn't quite put me finger on it. The hair. You couldn't exactly miss the bleedin' hair could you? Then I remembered and I realised what a tosser 'e was.  
  
Remembered 'im from back in the seventies. Made a bit of a name for himself. Quite the showoff. Left a trail of bodies in his wake too. Him and 'is missus. She was a right weird bint. Never quite understood 'er. Mind you, probably would've poked her given half the chance. Funny 'ow I fall for that type, innit? Still, she was too devoted to that wanker to even notice me. Good thing really. I like to live dangerously but that's takin' the piss a little too much.  
  
I take a drag of my cigarette. Bloody thing's burning my fingers. Didn't realise I'd near finished it. I throw it onto the ground and pull out another one. Silk Cut. These bloody yanks haven't got a clue with that bloody Malboro shit. Beer's crap as well. I put the fag in me mouth and light up, my eyes still on that dickhead.  
  
He's still standing there. Looking up at some window. Wouldn't be surprised if he's planning another kill. Wouldn't put it passed 'im. Although he was never the arty type. He told me an old mate of his was though. Back in the '90s. 1890s that is. Said this mate of 'is was probably a poof.  
  
We had a few drinks together back in the White Lion. He was planning on taking 'is missus to America and, well, he's 'ere. I doubt it's taken 'im this long, mind you. Probably done a bit of travelling here and there too.  
  
He's still looking. I wonder why of course. He can't get in the bloody place unless he's invited. If I was like 'im I'd have been checking out the local nightspots. If you're thick enough to go an' get drunk near the Hellmouth you bleedin' well deserve to get bitten.  
  
Never liked vampires meself. Had enough experience to tell me you keep away from 'em at all costs. 'Course, in my line of work that that's a bit difficult. I 'spose I'm like a walking Hellmouth really. Wherever I am shit follows. Usually not far behind. Like the time I met the "king of the vampires". Hmph. There's enough of the buggers who think they've been around the block enough to go calling themselves that. Heard there was one around these parts once.  
  
Anyway, where was I? Oh aye. The king of the vampires. Bastard took advantage of my good nature and, well, alcohol enriched body to risk takin' a bite. Silly sod didn't realise I had demon blood in me. Another long story... involves cancer, deals with three demons and another chance to keep on going like I always 'ave... probably tell you it another time. Well, this vampire king... he starts foaming at the mouth the moment he sticks 'is fangs in me. Pushed the bugger out into the sun to fry while I unzipped and did me duty over 'im.  
  
Enough proof, I think, that no bloody demon - pure blood, vampire or otherwise - is going to get the better of me.  
  
I take another drag and look at the stupid bugger looking up at that window. He's focused, I'll give 'im that. There's something... or someone up there he wants and he's gonna get no matter what. He was always like that, mind. He'd set his sights on killing a Slayer when I saw 'im last. He'd done one in back in 1900 and thought seventy odd years was enough of a wait. Wonder if 'e managed.  
  
Bloody hell! He's walking off now. Looks a bit dejected. Guess 'e isn't gonna get what he wanted tonight. Shame really. As much as I dislike him he's got a charm, y'know? A magnetic personality. You can hate 'im all you want but spend a night out drinking with 'im and for those few rounds you can really see 'is point of view. Bit like me, I s'pose.  
  
I follow him. Carefully, of course. Don't want to alarm 'im, make him run... or God forbid trip over and end up with something wooden through 'is chest. He's heading out of the street. Nice place actually. None of the locals probably know what they've got themselves into though. You can just feel the vibes coming out of the ground. It's like a drug to those who can detect it. The closer you are, the closer you want to be until you're right in the middle of it. You can see why the bloody vampires and the likes come here. It's not the deathwish... it's the rush.  
  
After about ten minutes of walking me boy's off into a nightclub. He walks in like he owns the place but I can tell it's not your average vampire dive. I've seen 'em. They get far worse than this. At least the ones back in London serve proper beer though.  
  
He's up at the bar ordering a drink. I take a seat where there's an empty glass. I look around. Little movement of the hand and I have a pint. Still, it's crap. Probably crapper than what they sell in here even but I never did bother perfecting it. I had a mate who did once. Used this spell to turn holy water into stout. Clever bugger. Shame he died really.  
  
Bloody hell. The old bloke's looking really depressed. If I was 'im I'd go right out and sink my teeth into something. That usually makes 'is kind feel better. Then I realise! How could I have been so bleedin' stupid? The sod's been neutered. You can just sense it. Makes me wanna laugh out loud. Really. It does. Funniest thing I've seen in ages and I wouldn't want to wish it on anyone else - this bugger really deserves it.  
  
Still, I do have this tinge of pity. His lot were designed for one thing and one thing only - killing. And possibly a bit of maiming but in the end the victim's dead so it don't really make much of a difference.  
  
He takes a sip of his beer and cringes. He obviously realises it's shite too. He takes out a fag and tries to light it. His bloody lighter's out of fuel. It's really not 'is day. I shrug. What the hell.  
  
"Looks like you could do with a hand, mate," I say as I light the cigarette in his mouth with my own lighter. He looks up at me. Slants 'is eyes a bit. Like 'e's tryin' to remember where he knows me from. Then he smiles.  
  
"John, mate!" He flashes that shit eating grin of his as he pushes a seat out. "Haven't seen you in... what is it?"  
  
"Twenty five bleedin' years," I reply. "And you still owe me a pint."  
  
"The stuff 'ere's bloody awful. I know this place around the corner. Proper grown up place not a kiddie night spot like this. I'll get you a Guinness."  
  
"You drinking that stuff now? Did I manage to convert you?"  
  
"Nah. Tastes of bleedin' Irish. I've 'ad enough Irish in my life to last me... well, a lifetime." He pauses and takes a gulp from the glass in his hand. Wants to get it finished as fast as possible. "So what brings you to these parts?"  
  
"'eard some big shit was goin' to 'appen. Dunno what." I smile. "Why else would I be in this shit hole of a country?"  
  
"Dunno though, the women aren't bad."  
  
"You off the loopy bird then?"  
  
"We 'ad our differences." He notices the questioning look on my face. "Let's just leave it at that." He pauses, contemplating. "The American women I've 'ad aren't all that bad though."  
  
"Women? You really 'ave made for lost time. Hundred years with one woman. Can't be good for you."  
  
"Well, woman. Singular. Bit bloody stupid. Easy though. And a good shag." He takes a drag from his cigarette and blows it up into the air. "There's this one though... Real good quality. Wouldn't mind a bit of her... won't give me a chance though."  
  
"She the one you've been stalking?"  
  
He raises an eyebrow and frowns a little. "You know about that? Oh aye, you do that sneaky shit don't you? Know about the chip too?"  
  
"I guessed," I shrug. Obviously not as much of a sore point. Must've 'ad it a while by now. "Still apart from women what're you doing these parts of the world. Not exactly a safehaven for your kind. I hear there's a Slayer about."  
  
The look on 'is face tells it all. I try to stifle a laugh but I can't. He just glares at me. "It's not bleedin' funny. She's in me 'ead all the soddin' time! It's too bloody much!"  
  
I don't say anything else as we get up and leave the club. He tells me the local kids think of this dive as the only place to go. Of course, there are decent pubs around which is a surprise. Traditional British one too. Well, as traditional as you can get in California. Beer's imported from back home though so I can't complain.  
  
Spike regails me with tales of what he'd been up to since I saw 'im last. He did get that Slayer in the end. Wanted to get the current one too if he 'adn't fallen in love with 'er. Sod's Law, that. Of course, they say that if you love 'em it's easier to kill 'em. My experience has pretty much told me that. How many mates have I left dead in my wake? Dread to think!  
  
By the end of the night we're both out of our heads. He tells me about some god bitch they've been having problems with. Them meaning 'im, the Slayer and her mates. Last Slayer I met in '88 didn't do that. Right loner she was. No bugger would've fallen in love with 'er. She'd've killed 'em first. I got the impression that's what all Slayers were meant to be like.  
  
We stagger out into the street havin' been kicked out by the landlord. Obviously doesn't appreciate the honour of 'aving proper Brits in 'is establishment. We throw a few insults and give him the finger before we make our way back to the graveyard 'e calls home. I shake 'is hand before he goes in.  
  
"Nice seeing you around again," he smiles. "Thought you'd've been dead by now."  
  
"Nah. I've got this funny habit of surviving these things. 'member what happen when you tried to bite me?"  
  
He nods knowingly and somewhat painfully. "It took bleedin' days for me balls to recover. You've got quite a knee on you."  
  
"Aye, and don't you forget it."  
  
He smiles, walks into the crypt then comes out again. "You're plannin' on staying around?"  
  
I shake my head. "Nah, I'll probably make me way back East tomorrow. I've 'ad enough of this place. Too much bloody sun."  
  
He grins. "Aye, I 'ave noticed. I told the Slayer 'er lot had a deathwish. I'm thinking maybe my kind do too."  
  
Still think 'e's an arsehole though.  
  
He goes back in and the door closes behind him. He throw my burnt out cigarette to the ground and stamp on it. A small waft of comes from it which I stare at until it really is dead then I turn and walk away. Got a long journey ahead of me. Although I might pop into that magic shop I saw on my way into town. Might 'ave something useful in there...  
  
END....  



End file.
